A Matter of Public Record
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Frank's curiosity leads the Hardys into trouble with their friends from Cascade.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.

 **A Matter of Public Record**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 1

Frank Hardy slouched comfortably in a desk chair, one hand guiding the computer mouse, eyes idly scanning the monitor as he roamed the Internet for anything of passing interest. He had skimmed over the news headlines, both local and other; he had checked the weather forecast; he had deleted three-quarters of recently received e-mails, wondering why no one could seem to develop a really good anti-spam program. Now he was merely looking for entertainment.

His brother Joe appeared in the doorway, holding a sheet of paper in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. "Got an e-mail from Daryl," he mumbled through a mouthful, waving the paper. "Printed it out. Wanna read it?"

"Yeah, give it here." Frank extended a hand for the missive and began to read.

Joe settled in a spare chair and continued to munch his apple. "He's leaving for Duke in another week," he offered after a moment. "Earlier than you start here."

"So I see." Frank continued to peruse the e-mail. "I'm reading it, don't tell me what's in it," he added, before Joe could speak again. Finally he laid down the paper. "Nice to hear from him. I should write to him…probably text him, though; that's faster, and he'll answer right away. Speaking of Daryl, you heard anything from Blair or Jim lately?"

Joe looked just a bit embarrassed. "No. But then, I think maybe I didn't answer Blair the last time. I meant to," he added defensively, as Frank shook his head in reproach. "And obviously you haven't either."

"I e-mailed them about a month ago," Frank retorted. "That's more than you've done."

Joe shrugged it off, grinning. Their relationship with the two detectives from Cascade was warm but not exactly on a must-talk-to-every-day basis. There was too much age difference, for one thing; for another, Jim and Blair were often incommunicado for one reason or another, usually having to do with their profession.

Frank frowned down at the letter from Daryl Banks. "I wonder... Did you ever hear the whole story about why Blair stopped being an anthropologist and became a police officer? I always get the feeling there was something funny about the whole thing, but I don't know what."

"Daryl's never said, to me anyway – if he knew at all, and evidently not to you." Joe thought about it. "Neither has Blair or Jim. It's just sort of a given: Blair was an observer riding with Jim for research on his doctoral thesis, and then decided to become a police officer. I mean…I guess he found out he really enjoyed it, or something…?"

"Don't you wonder?" Frank persisted. "What was his thesis on? And why did he stop all of a sudden and not complete the program? People don't just abandon years of study and work like that. Doesn't it make you want to know?"

"Oh, maybe some. Not enough to bug them about it, if they haven't volunteered the information."

"Well, I think I'm curious." Frank swiveled to face the monitor and raised his hands to the keyboard. "I know I can probably find a copy of his Masters thesis and go from there. It stands to reason that he would have gone on with the same subject matter, or something sort of related, right? All the universities keep stuff like that available to the public – these days electronic, if not hard copy. I'll bet I can find copies of everything he ever submitted to the university. And didn't somebody mention that he wrote articles for magazines and things like that? Anthropology journals… Maybe there's articles about him in the newspapers too. Jim probably made the news a few times, with how high-profile Major Crimes is, and Blair might have been mentioned too."

"Frank…" Joe sounded uncomfortable. "Maybe it's something better left alone. If no one ever talks about it, maybe there's a good reason."

Frank emitted a quiet snort of ridicule. "It's public record, Joe; it's not like I'm hacking into his private computer to look at it! And what's with the long face?" he added, glancing at his brother briefly before returning to his endeavors. "Usually you're the one who's sniffing out a mystery, hot on the trail. Aren't you curious?"

"Yeah, but…I don't know," Joe said, "I just don't feel right about it. It seems like it would have come up in conversation, and since it hasn't… And you know," he went on, "when Jim and Dad and I were being held by those ridiculous people in Cascade in June, Dad and Jim talked for hours about everything they'd done in their careers, and although Jim said glowing things about what a good detective and great cop Blair was, and how he loved partnering with him, and what a brilliant student and teacher he'd been, and how proud he was of him, and what good friends they are, he never once said 'boo' about Blair's theses or the subjects. Either Masters or doctoral. Zip, zilch, _nada_. And I don't think it's that he forgot to mention them, either!"

Frank said 'Hmmm," and typed something into a search box.

"Has it occurred to you to just ask them, rather than snooping?"

"More fun this way." Frank clicked buttons on the mouse. "After all, snooping's what we do, isn't it?"

Seeing he was being ignored, Joe shook his head and drifted from the room. He tossed his apple core into Frank's wastebasket on the way out.

Frank stared at the screen, nodded decisively, clicked a few more times, smiled with satisfaction, and settled in to read. His eyes widened fractionally a time or two – and then he began to scribble notes on a handy piece of paper. He continued to read avidly.

###

Two hours later Frank emerged from his room looking both elated and confused. A haphazard sheaf of papers of various sizes was clutched in one hand. "Joe? Joe, where are you? I gotta show you something."

"Family room," came the faint reply from downstairs. Frank headed in that direction.

#####

"Ye-ahh..." Cascade Police Detective Blair Sandburg scribbled his name on the final page of a report and tossed it into his Out basket. "Last one," he sighed happily, leaning back in his desk chair and stretching his arms above his head. "Man, I am like so done! How're you doing?" he inquired of his partner.

"Two left, but they're mostly done," Jim Ellison mumbled, scowling at the computer monitor as he rapidly filled in blanks, his gaze shifting back and forth from an untidy pile of handwritten notes to the screen.

"Maybe we could get away early?" Blair hazarded. "We're completely caught up, once you finish those, aren't we?"

"Far as I know." Jim re-read something and hit the Backspace key, shaking his head.

"Don't we have some comp time accumulated?" Blair continued his wishful thinking. "We could get out of town for a long weekend, go camping maybe. Sound nice?"

"Sounds great," Ellison concurred, "but just because we have comp time and we're caught up doesn't mean Simon'll let us go."

"What's the use of comp time and being caught up, then?" Sandburg complained, still tilted back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.

"Don't look too relaxed, Chief, or Simon will find you something to do," Jim warned quietly. "And you probably won't enjoy it."

"True." Sandburg sat up hastily and began shuffling through file folders and papers, stacking things and generally tidying up. Jim returned to his report writing, and there followed a few minutes of peaceful silence.

"Sandburg! Ellison! My office!" a familiar voice barked.

"Damn," Sandburg muttered, and slammed a desk drawer in frustration.

Ellison winced. "Too late." He got to his feet, regretfully abandoning his almost-completed reports, and tousled Sandburg's dark curls. "C'mon, Chief. We tried. Banks must have x-ray vision to see through those closed miniblinds and catch you unoccupied." The two men made their way to the captain's office, neither looking very happy.

Captain Simon Banks wasn't looking especially happy either, although he waved his two detectives to chairs and held up his coffee carafe in invitation. "Sit, gentlemen. Coffee?"

"No thanks, Simon. I mean, Captain." Sandburg settled into one of the side chairs with uncharacteristic restraint. Ellison sat down beside him and accepted a cup of Banks' private brew.

"Not feeling well, Sandburg?" the captain inquired. Blair rarely, if ever, turned down coffee, especially Simon's.

"I'm fine," Blair replied shortly, and clamped his mouth tightly closed.

Banks eyed him skeptically and turned to his senior detective. "How's the paperwork coming?"

"We'll be done with everything current by the end of the day," Ellison assured him. "We were actually wondering if we could knock off early – maybe put in for some of that comp time we're owed." He felt Blair tense beside him, anticipating the reply.

The captain shook his head regretfully. "I know you're owed it," he conceded, "but right now I need you two on something else." He avoided their eyes, fiddling with his coffee cup and other objects on his desk. "The cold case files are stacking up, and you two have the time to work on them now."

"Cold cases?" Blair half-rose from his chair, bristling with indignation. "Excuse me, Captain, but getting assigned cold cases and not getting our comp time? That feels an awful lot like we're being punished for doing a good job and getting everything done!" Jim's firm grip on his arm forced him back into his seat.

Banks eyed him coldly through his gold wire-rims. "Don't hold back, Detective, let's hear how you really feel," he invited sardonically, then sighed. "I'm sorry, guys, really, and I understand how you feel, but the Commish is breathing down my neck about cold cases. You two are caught up; _ergo_ you get the extra assignment. For now. Maybe the comp time can come in a week or two."

Only Ellison's enhanced hearing picked up Sandburg's breathed "That's not fair." He got to his feet, pulling Blair up after him; there was no point in giving Banks another chance to hear Sandburg's protests. "We'll get on it, sir," he said tightly. He agreed with Blair that this was definitely not a fair shake, but he could see the captain's side of it as well – maybe a residual left over from his days as an Army Captain.

Once back at their adjoining desks in the bullpen, Jim returned to finishing his reports, while Blair, rather than going to the cold case files as instructed, defiantly opened a computer window to check his e-mail. Jim saw what he was doing, but kept his comments inside his head. Blair needed a few – maybe more than a few – minutes to himself.

The next thing that caught Ellison's attention was the sharp intake of breath from his partner, followed by a rapid increase in his heart rate. The Sentinel looked up quickly and was shocked by Sandburg's appearance. The color had drained from his face, and his eyes, fixed on the computer screen, were wide with – what was it? Fear? Horrified fascination?

"Chief?" Ellison half-rose, extending his hand towards his partner. "What's—"

"C'mere. Read this," the younger detective rasped.

Jim was beside him in seconds, leaning over his shoulder and reading the screen's contents. "It's from Frank Hardy? What's he…? 'curious about…looked up your…'" _Oh, no. No_. "'What's this about Jim being Superman? Whoo-hoo!' Damn!" Ellison's hands clenched hard on Blair's shoulders in fury. "Damn that fool kid!"

"Too smart." Now Sandburg's voice was overly calm, no doubt due to shock. "Frank's one of the smartest people I know…and he's curious as a cat. We should have known he'd get intrigued by it eventually. And it's all out there if you know where to look – public record." He turned his head, dazed sea-blue eyes meeting the ice-blue ones of his partner. "What are we going to do?" His breath began to come faster, and Ellison sensed an incipient panic attack. "What if he tells—? Jim, we have to stop him!"

"I know, I know; just take it easy. We'll figure something out," Jim soothed automatically, but his mind was skittering in a dozen different directions – as was Blair's, evidently. The anticipation of their secret being exposed was something they lived with on a daily basis, but it was shoved into the background most of the time. Blair wasn't scared of much – a cop faces the chance of mortal danger every day on the job, and Sandburg had come to terms with that when he was just a police observer – but having Jim's enhanced senses become common knowledge terrified him. It terrified Jim as well, but there was an extra layer of guilt atop Blair's fear. "The first thing is to talk to him – and Joe; he's told Joe, of course. I hope he hasn't spread it further." He squeezed Blair's shoulders again, this time attempting to reassure. "Write him back, Chief, and tell him – ask him – hell, beg him – to please keep a wrap on it until we can talk to them." Ellison straightened and turned to head for the captain's office. "I'm going to talk to Simon about that comp time again. We're taking it whether the Commissioner likes it or not."

"But…" Sandburg let his protest die unuttered, but he didn't immediately move to reply to the e-mail. Instead he stood and made his unsteady way towards the hallway and the men's restroom. "It won't do you any good, man, you know that," he murmured for the Sentinel's ears alone.

Jim turned back to the computer and clicked the 'Print' command, then snatched the paper from the printer tray before striding across the bullpen. He gave a perfunctory rap on Banks' door and opened it immediately afterward. The captain looked up with a forbidding frown.

"Jim, if you're back to argue that cold case issue…"

"No, sir, I'm here to tell you that Sandburg and I will be taking that comp time starting immediately," Ellison growled, and practically flung what he was holding on Banks' desk. "And this is why. Sir."

Captain Banks scanned the e-mail rapidly, blinked and re-read it, more slowly this time. Finally he raised his eyes to the furious detective hovering over his desk. "Well," he said heavily, "I never saw that one coming."

"I didn't either – although I should have."

"Where's Sandburg?"

"In the men's room." Ellison cocked his head minutely and then grimaced. "Puking up his lunch."

Banks pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "That was more info than I needed," he muttered.

"Captain, we have to talk to the Hardy kids – this isn't exactly something we can settle with a quick phone call. I'm sorry if this will get you in hot water with your superiors, but—"

"Hang on, just hang on." Banks gestured to a chair. "Sit down and give me a minute, Jim, and let me think." He rummaged through a stack of file folders for a moment, then pulled one out and opened it.

"Captain…" Jim sank reluctantly into the seat. "Please, sir, we have to book a flight—"

"I said, Detective, give me a minute," the captain snapped, and continued to scan the contents of the file. "Ah, there it is; I thought so." He picked up the phone receiver and punched a button. "Rhonda? I want you to book Ellison and Sandburg to New York City on the earliest flight you can find; this evening, tonight, whatever. Red-eye will do if you can't get anything earlier. And then call and register them for the one-day Conflict Management seminar that starts Sunday morning at the Crowne Plaza Hotel. Yes, I said book the flight for tonight – yes, I know that gets them there Friday morning. Return flight Monday sometime; no rush. Thanks, Rhonda, I'll leave it in your hands." He returned the receiver to its cradle and turned his gaze to the thunderstruck detective in his visitor chair. "I said no comp time and I meant no comp time. And don't even think of giving me grief about not needing to attend a conflict management seminar, Detective. Now, get out of here. I expect all those completed reports on my desk before you and Sandburg leave."

"Y-yes, sir, thank you sir." Ellison scrambled ungracefully to his feet. "Simon, I don't—"

"Jim." Banks held up a hand. "Just get it settled satisfactorily, okay? Oh, and be sure you both attend the seminar. If we're paying for it, you might as well get some good out of it."

"Y-yessir, Captain. Thank you." Still flustered, Jim left the office.

Simon Banks gazed at the printed e-mail once again. "Idiot know-it-all kids," he muttered, and slid it into a desk drawer where it would be safely hidden from view.

Sandburg was back at his desk typing haltingly on the keyboard, when Jim sat down. By the look on his face and the constant backspace/delete/retyping going on, the Sentinel surmised that he was attempting to answer Frank Hardy's missive.

"You okay?" Ellison eyed him searchingly. Blair was pale and looked somewhat damp around the edges; he'd evidently splashed water on his face and hadn't gotten completely dry.

"I'll survive." Blair sighed, stopped typing and moved a hand to the mouse.

"Hold on a minute, Chief. Don't send it yet."

"What? Why?" Blair stared across the expanse of desks with wide, miserable eyes.

"New data to input." Jim forced a smile. "Simon didn't exactly grant us the comp time, but he did something else. And here it comes…" He looked up as Rhonda approached them holding several sheets of paper.

"Here's your flight info and your hotel and seminar confirmations," she said, handing the papers to Jim. "Your flight leaves at 8:47 p.m. At least that gives you some time to pack. You were lucky to still be able to get into the seminar."

"Thanks, Rhonda; you're the best. We'll bring you chocolates from New York, how's that?"

The pretty blonde gave him a sunny smile. "That'll do. Milk chocolate, please – and lots of caramels and rum nougats and strawberry creams. NO chocolate-covered cherries. Enjoy the trip, gentlemen." She returned to her desk.

"Jim…" Blair's low voice quavered. "What's going on?" He reached for the papers Ellison held, and his hands were shaking as well.

"Simon's sending us to a seminar on Sunday," Jim explained gently, keeping the papers in his own grasp. "In New York City. But we're leaving tonight. We'll get there early tomorrow morning. Plenty of time to…see people. Get together with some…friends." He nodded towards the computer monitor. "Why don't you tell Frank we'll be there tomorrow, and suggest they meet us somewhere, Chief?"

Blair's mouth opened and shut a couple of times, then he nodded. "I can…do that," he whispered, and set his hands on the keyboard. "Wh-where are we staying?"

Jim glanced at the hotel confirmation to make sure it was the same as the seminar location. "Crowne Plaza on West 57th."

"Right." Blair typed shakily for a few moments, read over what he'd written, then clicked the mouse, sending the e-mail on its way. "Um…what's the seminar on?" he asked, then.

Ellison was already reviewing his unfinished reports. "Conflict management," he replied without looking up, and ignored Blair's splutter of unfeigned amusement. "Give me a hand, Chief, we've got to get all this stuff done before we can go home and pack!"

#####

"I told you not to." In his younger days, Joe Hardy's voice might have held vindictive triumph, in that his older brother had transgressed and Joe himself had not. Now, however, Joe just sounded sad. "I told you it wasn't a good idea to dig all that stuff up about Blair and his dissertation and everything. There's a reason they don't talk about it."

"But Joe, it's so cool!" Frank sounded both guilty and elated. "Enhanced senses? Can you imagine how great that would be in their profession? Or just how great in general!? Think of the things Jim can do!"

"Obviously," Joe said somberly, "it wasn't all that great, or it wouldn't have had to be hushed up, and Blair wouldn't have had to renounce his dissertation like it said in those newspaper articles."

"Mmm. I guess. Yeah, that part's not very cool, is it?" Frank sounded a bit more subdued. For a few moments there was silence as they threaded their way through busy New York City traffic, with Frank at the wheel.

They had received Blair's terse e-mail the evening before, stating that he and Jim were arriving in New York early in the morning, that a conversation with the Hardy brothers was imperative, and that they were staying at the Crowne Plaza hotel. "Please meet us there Friday afternoon, any time after three," was the final sentence in the missive. There was no mention of Frank's excited e-mail…but both he and Joe knew that they were in some serious trouble with the detectives from Washington State.

"How mad do you think they are?" Frank asked now, glancing quickly at Joe. He was hoping for optimism from his younger brother, but not expecting much, truth be told.

Indeed, Joe's gloomy reply didn't offer anything in the way of reassurance. "Furious."

###

Locating the hotel, they found a nearby parking lot and left Frank's car, then made their way to the main entrance. An inquiry at the front desk elicited the information that Detectives Sandburg and Ellison were occupying a room on the 15th floor. The brothers took an elevator to the appropriate floor and found the correct room number. They exchanged one last commiserating glance before Frank sighed, squared his shoulders and tentatively rapped on the door.

It opened to reveal Blair Sandburg. His lips twitched into a reluctant smile upon seeing them, but he looked both tired and upset. "Frank, Joe – come in." He swung the door open wider to admit them.

They entered the hotel room and looked around, getting their bearings. Blair was behind them, closing the door to the hallway. Ahead were the usual chain-hotel accoutrements: two large beds separated by a nightstand, long dresser with a TV setup on top, round table and chairs over by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Immediately to their right was a closed door to the bathroom; to the left a small closet. In one of the chairs beside the table, Jim Ellison lounged, mostly a silhouette against the light pouring in despite the closed white draperies.

"Uh…hi." Joe managed to force the greeting out, with none of his usual cheerfulness. Frank murmured something almost unintelligible.

"Thanks for coming." Ellison got to his feet and crossed the intervening space in a few steps, holding out his hand, much to the Hardys' surprise. They hadn't known what to expect, but cordiality wasn't one of the options they'd come up with. Heated ire, cold rage, hurled recriminations, all those things had been considered. A friendly greeting? No. But both boys could see the wariness on the big detective's face. He looked almost as if he was…afraid. Of what? _Them_?

Jim gestured to the table and chairs. "Sit down," he invited. They obeyed. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as Ellison resumed his seat and Blair perched on the end of one of the beds.

Finally Joe couldn't stand it any longer. "How much trouble are we in?" he blurted.

Both the Cascade detectives emitted soft chuffs of somewhat bitter laughter. "That sort of depends," Jim replied, "on how many people you've told about this."

"None!" "We haven't, honest!" "We didn't tell anybody!" The words tumbled over each other as the brothers vehemently denied sharing the information.

"No one? You sure?" Blair leaned forward from his seat on the bed to fix the Hardys with a penetrating stare.

"No one. I swear. I just told Joe, and—"

"And I didn't say anything to anyone about it."

Blair leaned back, sighing. Jim drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There was a definite lessening of tension in the room. "That's…good." Blair murmured.

"But why is it so important to keep it a secret?" Frank asked. "It's – it's absolutely amazing! Jim, you're – from what Blair said, the things that you can do…you're incredible!"

Ellison jerked his head up and stared at the elder Hardy boy for a few seconds, then groaned and dropped his face into one hand. "Oh hell," he muttered, "he looks just like you did."

"Like me?" Blair looked from Frank to Jim in puzzlement. "How like me?"

"Yeah, like you – that starry-eyed, hero-worship look you used to get when I first met you."

Sandburg began to chuckle. "Well, I guess you just inspire hero-worship in people."

Jim groaned again.

Blair got to his feet and retrieved a large leather-bound book from atop the dresser. He handed this to Frank. "Read the pages I've marked," he invited. "I think I've hit the highlights; it should give you a quick overview of what we're dealing with. I know you read the newspaper articles and some of the other stuff," he went on, forestalling Frank's attempt at protest, "but skim through this anyway."

Frank obeyed, and Joe leaned over to scan the pages as well. There was silence in the hotel room, broken only by soft murmurs as the boys read. Ellison and Sandburg stayed quiet, exchanging occasional glances.

It didn't take long. Soon both the Hardys were looking up from the last marked page, their faces showing both amazement and respect.

"Wow." Frank spoke first. "I still say you're absolutely amazing."

"Yeah," Joe chimed in. "Deny it all you want, but you do run a close second to Superman."

Ellison's face turned pink. "Not even close," he protested.

"And like Superman with Kryptonite, there are drawbacks, remember." Blair's voice was very serious. "Vulnerabilities. Dangers."

Frank still wasn't paying much attention to that aspect. "What's it like to watch, when he's working?" he asked, directing the question towards Blair. To his surprise, the answer came from a completely unlooked-for source.

"It's incredible," Joe said quietly. When the others turned towards him he smiled a little at Jim. "I've seen you do it, haven't I? The day we first met, when we were searching for Frank and Blair and Daryl. You were using your senses all the time we were down there in those tunnels. And after we found the others, you used them to check Frank's leg…and Blair's injuries. It wasn't just being a former Army medic and some luck."

Ellison smiled in return. "I was trying to keep you from noticing, but there was a choice of not using them and probably not finding Sandburg and the others…or using them and hoping you didn't catch on." The smile widened. "You're too smart to fool for long."

"And when you and I and Dad were being held by those nut-cases in Cascade; you listened in on their conversations." Joe went on. "I wondered how you knew what they were up to. And I remembered – when they dumped you in with us and you wouldn't come to for so long. I remembered what you said about getting lost in concentrating, and I wondered if something like that had happened."

Jim's smile was both rueful and admiring. "Not too much gets by you, does it?"

"And the stereo in your apartment. We had it up really loud listening to the Valhalla CD, and it hurt your ears." Joe winced, remembering the incident. He'd been sorry then; he was doubly sorry now.

"Now you're beginning to see the drawbacks," Blair interposed bleakly. "Add four more to the hearing difficulties – sight, scent, touch, taste. And that's just the inconveniences, not the actual dangers that are involved."

"Dangers?" Frank queried. Before Blair could reply, he got it. "Someone could use them against you, if they knew, couldn't they?"

Ellison nodded.

"Dog whistles," Blair muttered. "Loud, unexpected noises. Gases. Eye irritants. Things to cause allergic reactions." He gestured towards the leather-bound book. "That's not modern, so it doesn't mention things like that. But believe me, they could be lethal, with Jim's senses being common knowledge. Criminals are quick to figure out if there's an edge. Something that lets them get the drop on a police officer, even just for a few seconds." He scowled. "And that's not even mentioning the zone-out factor."

"Zone-out…that's what you meant!" Joe exclaimed. He stared at Jim, frowning in concern. "When we were in the tunnels. You held onto me and said you might drift, and I should shake you or talk to you, if you did. Or slap you," he added. "I didn't want to do that, though!"

Jim's lips quirked humorously. "Never a good idea to slap a cop."

"Or an Army Ranger," Blair put in, _sotto voce_. Then, returning to his normal tones, he went on, "So, you see why you can't share this knowledge with anyone? It would put Jim in danger. And not just the criminal element. I hate to say it, but there are agencies – government and otherwise – that would be very happy to grab Jim and put him in a lab to do tests on, for the rest of his life. Or use his talents for who knows what. Understand?" he emphasized, gazing steadily at the brothers.

"Yeeeessss…but…but it's…so cool!" was Frank's response. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Jim began to laugh again.

"Oh Chief, I feel five years younger all of a sudden! This really takes me back."

"I feel ten years older," Sandburg groaned.

"Who else knows about this?" Joe asked then. "Captain Banks?"

Jim nodded. "Simon knows. He had to be told right from the beginning. Megan Connor knows. My father and brother are aware of my…abilities. Blair's mother, maybe, sort of. I think Daryl suspects, if he hasn't figured it all out by now. Several others in Major Crimes have a good idea, but not definite knowledge."

"Unfortunately, a few people on the other side of the law have the knowledge as well," Blair added, "although we've done what we can to squelch that whenever possible."

"How well can you keep a secret?" Ellison asked, directing his question at Frank.

The two brothers shared a long glance. "We can keep a secret," Frank said at last, thinking of their experiences with the Gray Man and the Network.

"Even if you can't tell anyone else? Not your parents, not your friends or your girlfriends, to impress them?" Blair moved in close, eyes hard. "This is serious, guys; not fooling around here playing Cops & Robbers or Cops & Spies, or whatever."

"We can keep Jim's secret," Joe said stoutly, meeting Blair's blue gaze with his own steady one. "You can trust us, Detective Sandburg."

Now Ellison and Sandburg were the ones exchanging glances, and after a moment of silent communication with his partner, Ellison nodded slightly. "I believe you," he said simply.

Most of the unhappy tension went out of the room, and Frank found himself exhaling a long sigh of relief. "Just one more question," he said hesitantly. At Jim's inquisitive eyebrow-raise, he continued, "Could you show us – just a little bit – what you are capable of doing?"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.

 **A Matter of Public Record**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & RokiaHDA

Chapter 2

Joe cast his eyes to the ceiling. Frank rarely did anything that embarrassed Joe, but right now, the younger Hardy felt about an inch high. "Frank!" he expostulated, "what kind of— Detective Ellison, I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," Ellison interposed, unable to stifle his laughter completely. "And it's 'Jim,' remember? We're friends here, right?"

" _Déjà vu_ all over again," Sandburg sighed, but he was smiling too.

"I'm sorry," Frank said, flushing hotly, "I don't mean to be rude, but it's just so – so wonderful, and I'm fascinated and—"

"We get it, Frank, and actually, I'm flattered. Your reaction is one of the better ones I've seen. Simon just backs off and says 'I don't want to know.' Megan is so worried I'll zone on her that she's poised to pinch me all the time. My father was humiliated that he had a freak for a son."

"Pinch you!" Joe sounded outraged. "That's – that's mean! Why would she do that?"

At the same time, Frank was exclaiming "Humiliated? But it's absolutely great! Why would he be humiliated? He should be proud of you!"

"And you aren't and never were, a freak," Blair put in firmly, blue eyes flashing.

Jim looked from one to another of the three young men, all hotly leaping to his defense – Blair would, of course, but the Hardys had just learned of his abilities! "Okay," he said slowly. "Thank you."

"I didn't mean to make you feel like – like – an exhibit or something," Frank stammered. "I'm sorry…"

"It's okay," Jim reassured him. "You just remind me so much of Sandburg when we first met, it's scary!"

"Quick demonstration?" Blair asked. At Jim's nod, he gestured to the two Hardys. "Go into the bathroom and close the door," he instructed. "Once you're in there, one of you say something in the absolutely softest whisper you can manage. Repeat it twice. Don't say something obvious that Jim might be able to guess – make it obscure." He waved them towards the bathroom and they obeyed. Left alone, the detective partners grinned at each other. This would be an easy one. "Any time," Blair called loudly.

There was a few moments of silence, and Jim cocked his head, eyes going slightly out of focus as he listened intently. "Got it," he murmured, smiling. "Come on out," he added more loudly, and the Hardys re-entered the main room. "Frank, you said ' _Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant'_ he said, and Frank's dark eyes widened comically.

"I did! I barely breathed it! And I used the Latin quotation to try and throw you off."

"I could hardly hear it," Joe chimed in, grinning in delighted amazement. "Wow, that is awesome, Jim!"

"His range is actually much better than that," Sandburg commented, "but that'll do for starters."

"Better? How much better?" Frank asked.

"I can hear your heartbeat," Jim said calmly. "And I can distinguish Blair's from anyone else's." He smiled and winked at his partner.

The Hardys lapsed into stunned silence at this revelation.

"Now sight," Blair instructed, hiding his grin by turning away. He rummaged in the top drawer of the dresser, coming up with a New York City telephone directory. The print was infinitesimal on the White Pages. "Joe, here, take this and go clear over to the door. In fact, open the door and go out across the hall – Frank, hold the door open. Jim, you back up to the windows."

They obeyed him, Jim still smiling and the Hardys looking half-stunned and half-elated.

"Now, Joe, open the phone book to any page and hold it up so it's towards us," Blair directed. "Jim, my man, take it away."

Ellison's gaze intensified as he looked towards the directory. "Top line, left-hand page, Murray, George, (212) 723-8659. Murray, Graham, (212) 723-2284—"

"Holy cow!" Joe gasped, peering closely at the tiny type. "You're right!" He strode back into the hotel room and Frank let the door close again. "That's incredible!"

"The others are harder to demonstrate," Sandburg said, frowning. He sighed wearily. "Sorry, but I could use a cup of coffee about now – or something to eat. It's been a really long couple of days, and we didn't get here to the hotel until 6 a.m. We grabbed a bagel downstairs and then crashed. But I guess—"

Jim held up a finger to halt his words. "You want coffee, Chief? I'll find you coffee. And I don't mean that crap in the little packets here in the room, and I don't mean downstairs in the coffee shop. But give me a boost." He reached for Blair, who stepped closer and laid a hand on Ellison's arm. Jim lifted his head just slightly, and Blair, who knew what to watch for, saw the Sentinel's nostrils flare a bit. After a few seconds, Ellison smiled in satisfaction.

"My wish is your command, partner. Columbian, Sumatran, French, Kona, American, flavored, espresso, whatever, coming up." He glanced from Blair to Joe to Frank. "Follow me," he invited, and moved towards the door. "I'll take you to it. And maybe we could grab some early dinner while we're at it. I don't know about you two, but Sandburg and I are starving!"

#####

Frank tried hard not to gape like a moron at Jim Ellison as he and Joe followed the two Cascade detectives out of the hotel room, into the elevator, and exited the hotel lobby onto the street. They turned left, Ellison leading the way without hesitation. Blair was half a step behind him; Frank and Joe brought up the rear.

The things Ellison had done to show his enhanced sight and hearing, in their room, had been amazing. Frank was still trying to assimilate it. _He's called a Sentinel – like a watcher, a guardian –how totally fitting!_ He tried to recall what they'd read so hastily from Blair's ancient book, as well as the things he'd read when he'd first looked it up online; the things in Blair's master's dissertation and the leaks from the PhD work. He vaguely remembered something about a Sentinel needing a 'companion'… _A companion – Blair, of course! Now it makes more sense. No wonder they're such close friends – and no wonder Blair became a cop to stay with Jim!_ His admiration of these two unusual men increased at the thought. They were both great police officers; Frank had seen them in action and knew that without a doubt. But this heightened senses thing –Jim was amazing, and Blair was…well, appearances to the contrary, he was amazing in his own right.

Joe, striding along next to his brother, was watching Ellison closely. It was eerie, almost, for in a way it felt similar to their trek through the tunnels beneath the Bayport Sports Arena, with Jim leading the way without a misstep while Joe trailed behind. Suddenly a lot of what took place in that desperate hunt for Frank and Blair and Daryl clicked into place. How Jim had been able to forge ahead in what would have been near-total darkness, before Joe produced his halogen flashlight. The way he had been able to hear Frank's and Daryl's shouts, and the fact he'd known they were on the other side of that wall he and Joe had kicked in. His unerring touch, when he'd assessed Blair's and Frank's injuries. The way he had heard Sandburg's slightest whispers…and the way the two of them had actively, genuinely _needed_ each other. And the way Blair had been so horribly torn up when Jim was shot, when the Hardys were in Cascade the first time…

Thankfully, a late summer afternoon on a New York City street wasn't much like the claustrophobic darkness they'd experienced before. Joe appreciated the differences immensely. And equally gratifying, this was no life-or-death matter, merely a search for a good cup of coffee. Joe couldn't stifle a grin of delight as he followed the two detectives. It widened as he noticed how Blair, especially, was gazing around with utter fascination. _Hey, I wonder if maybe he's never been here before, even with all his traveling! I hope they have time to see some of the sights before they have to go back to Cascade. Frank and I could show them around, tomorrow._

"I hope we have time to do a little sight-seeing before we go home," Sandburg said softly to his partner, unknowingly echoing Joe's thoughts. "I've never been in New York before, not to stay, and you know, we didn't get to come here when we were in Bayport, even though you said we could, but because I got hurt we didn't, and maybe we'll have some time tomorrow, you think, since the seminar thingy doesn't start until Sunday?"

"Breathe, Sandburg."

Blair gasped in a breath and continued talking. "The people, Jim, there are so many different people, and things look so much older than in Cascade; not everything, of course, but some, especially if we went down into Greenwich Village, which is really old, and did you notice, the skyscrapers are humongous, way more than we have in Cascade, and—"

"Easy, Chief, your inner anthropologist is clawing its way to the surface." But Jim's smile was gentle, and he rubbed the back of Sandburg's neck affectionately. "I'll bet we can find some time to do some exploring tomorrow; it's not like we have anything else planned. Maybe the Hardy kids would suggest some places to go; it's kind of their turf, after all." He paused, keeping his hand on Sandburg's shoulder, and lifted his head a fraction, nostrils flaring slightly again. "Okay, it's this way."

They'd gone two blocks, and now turned another corner and continued their march down the sidewalk. At the far end of the block, a brightly-lit corner café seemed to beckon to them, and Jim strode forward unhesitatingly, with a backward glance to gather in Frank and Joe. "In here."

Frank exchanged a quick glace with his brother as they followed. Detective Ellison had said he'd find Blair some good coffee, and he had – not in the hotel, or right next door to it, or something, but three blocks away! It was unlikely he'd known it was there, although Frank supposed the two detectives _might_ have done a little exploring earlier in the day…but no, Blair had said they'd crashed almost as soon as they reached the hotel. As they moved into the building beneath a sign declaring the place to be "Ardelle's – where New York's Finest eat!" in curvy neon letters, Frank could smell the coffee fragrance that the Sentinel had been following. Sitting on a counter to one side of the doors was a long row of coffee decanters, and there were tables scattered about the room, with people eating and drinking at nearly all of them. As well as coffee Frank smelled some enticing aromas that caused his stomach to growl, and made him think about supper. Wow, either Jim Ellison was absurdly lucky in finding a café with superb coffee, or those enhanced senses were even more amazing than Frank had figured!

"Can't you wipe that silly smirk off your face? Seriously, Frank, you're acting like a three-year-old about to meet Santa for the first time," Joe whispered. "Quit it, you're totally embarrassing me – and I don't say that too often!"

Frank blushed sheepishly, trying to rein in his obvious admiration of the Cascade Sentinel. It did kind of embarrass him that he could suddenly be swept up in boyhood hero worship – and him a college student! Still, he saw that Joe looked impressed too, and knew his brother was no less filled with awe than he. "You're just as bad as I am – you are so busted," he whispered to Joe, and grinned when he noticed the corners of Jim Ellison's lips turn up. It was sort of chancy, saying anything around the Cascade Sentinel!

Apparently he'd whispered more loudly than he realized, for Blair chuckled too, and said "Guys, I'm still impressed with what Jim does, every day, and I've been watching him do it for years!"

"Now you're makin' me blush," Ellison said, and ruffled Sandburg's hair lightly.

A girl with a nametag that read "Claudia" came forward to welcome them. "Table for four?" she asked, smiling, "or just coffee from the counter?"

"Table," Ellison said. "Coffee right away, and then we'd like to see your dinner menu."

"No problem!" Claudia chirped. "Right this way." She led them to a corner booth with comfortable bench seating, and the four men slid into the cushioned seats, the Hardys sitting across from the two older men. "The coffee menus are there," she said, pointing to the wire rack on the table. "Someone will be right over to take your orders and bring you dinner menus."

They smiled their thanks and settled in, all four relaxed for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.

A Matter of Public Record

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 3

Once each man had his choice of coffee in front of him, and dinners had been ordered, conversation resumed regarding Sentinels. Blair was happy to talk about his favorite subject – one he seldom got to mention – and Jim had resigned himself to the fact that the Hardy kids were now going to be part of a very small, select group.

"Was that enough of a demonstration of enhanced sense of smell?" Sandburg asked now, smiling. "I probably couldn't have come up with a better way to show you."

"Totally awesome," Joe nodded. He took an appreciative sip of his coffee. "And you definitely found a place with good coffee!"

"Of course, you've had your suspicions for a long time, haven't you?" Ellison inquired, smiling too. "I had to use the senses more than I liked to, several times when you were around. Frank not so much, but you…!"

"Some," Joe admitted, "but mostly I just thought you had really super-strong, sensitive hearing. That was impressive enough!"

"Could you just tell us about it?" Frank requested. "We don't know what questions to ask."

So Sandburg and Ellison told them, talking quietly beneath the chatter and clatter of the others in the room. With breaks for receiving their meals, and pauses and interruptions while they ate, they spoke of Blair's search for a full-fledged Sentinel, based on his studies of Richard Burton's – "the explorer, not the actor" – book. Blair explained how although there were hundreds of partials, of varying degrees of enhancement, someone with all five senses heightened was rare, indeed. "We did encounter one other person with all five, but she…had other issues. I couldn't use her as a thesis subject," Blair said diffidently. They told the Hardys about cases which Jim's abilities had helped solve, that otherwise might never have been resolved.

"And don't you dare call me a walking crime lab," the Sentinel warned Frank, pre-empting a comment the elder Hardy was about to make. "I heard enough about that from Sandburg!"

"Okay, okay, I won't – but you are!" Frank sighed.

"It's great, of course – but as you read in Burton's book, just a bit ago, and in my stuff you found online, and as I mentioned back at the hotel, there are also drawbacks," Blair said more soberly. "Serious hazards that have to be taken into account."

"Such as?" Frank asked.

"Spikes, allergies, sensitivities, zone-outs, sensory overload…"

"And the human element," Ellison added grimly.

Again they spoke of cases to illustrate their point. They told of Lee Brackett, the rogue CIA agent who had threatened to annihilate Cascade with the Ebola virus so that Jim would use his senses to help Brackett commit a crime. Of the time when merely touching beads coated with heroin paste had put Jim in the hospital, and a simple over-the-counter cold remedy had sent him into hallucinatory episodes. How a few grains of the drug Golden had blinded him – thankfully, temporarily. How judicious use of a dog whistle could incapacitate him completely – and dog whistles are easy to acquire. How a criminal with knowledge of Sentinels could get white-noise generators to 'blank out' certain areas, if desired.

"And consider," Blair waved his fork to illustrate his point, "what it would be like to have your sense of smell or taste so acute that anything – anything – is too strong; strong enough to make you gag. Not just scuzzy smells, like garbage, but things that are supposed to be alluring, like perfume, or enticing, like pizza, or coffee—" He gestured at their surroundings, then continued "or strawberries – or pleasant, like flowers. All of them make you sick. You can't eat anything even remotely spicy or flavored. Anything touching your skin – your clothes, for instance – irritates so much you want to tear it off. Your clothes and your skin."

"Sandburg, some of us are trying to eat, here," Jim growled.

"Oops. Sorry." Blair grinned unrepentantly.

"So what do you do? How do you cope?" Joe asked, frowning. "I mean, you seem to be okay with eating and drinking and touching things…"

"That's where Sandburg comes in," Jim replied. He reached to lay a hand on his partner's wrist where it rested on the table, squeezing gently. "He's come up with tips and tricks and coping mechanisms. The best one by far is imagining dials, so I can regulate input. He also developed disgusting tests – and demands endless practice until reactions are automatic. Most of the time anyway."

"You know darned well that you don't have to practice anymore; you've had it nailed for a long time now," Blair retorted with a smile.

"Blair, you're the 'companion' Burton mentioned," Frank said. "Aren't you?"

"That's the one good thing Brackett did for us," Jim said, before Blair could reply. "He gave us a name. Guide. Both what Sandburg is, and what he does. Even if it does make him sound like a German Shepherd."

"Jim!" Blair snatched his hand from beneath his partner's, and smacked him on the arm.

"Guide. Guide." Joe rolled the word around on his tongue. "It fits, doesn't it? But how does it work? What do you do, Blair? Can anyone do it for Jim, or just you?"

The two older men both chuckled.

"I thought it could be anyone," Sandburg said, with a rueful smile. "I thought it was just a case of someone being around and handy. But – in Jim's case, anyway – it doesn't work like that. Apparently Guides are born, not made…at least, to some extent. At any rate, some are better at it than others."

"As I mentioned, Connor pinches. Not a pleasant association," Ellison grumbled.

"And as for how it works, I can't explain it, why it's me and not someone else. It just is, although maybe it's because I taught him the tricks first, I don't know..."

"Nope," Ellison mumbled, shaking his head firmly.

"I can reach Jim if he's in a zone, usually, given some time. I can ground him when he's using his senses, and he says they work better if he's touching me when he uses them. I guess I'm kind of like an amplifier." Sandburg smiled at his partner affectionately. "And he says he doesn't mind too much, having me around, anymore. He's gotten used to me."

Ellison rolled his eyes. "I didn't have much choice," he retorted, but his smile belied his words. "And it's not my imagination; things really do work better if Blair's there," he added to the Hardys. "Blame it on personal chemistry, or something. Sometimes other people can do it too." He glanced at his Guide and elevated one eyebrow in question, giving a tiny head-tilt toward the boys.

Blair grinned and gave a tiny shrug. "Your call. Tell whatever you're comfortable with," he whispered.

"Other people…" Ellison said slowly, watching Frank's and Joe's faces as they listened. "For me, I mean." He fastened his gaze on Joe. "You, for instance."

Joe's eyes went comically wide. "Me?" he squeaked. "Me?"

"Just marginally," Ellison qualified with a small grin. "Not like Sandburg can. But yes, you. I noticed it after we first met, in those tunnels. It…helped, having you there."

"Holy sh— cow." Joe looked from Jim to Blair. "ME?"

Frank looked equally dumbfounded. "Joe? A Guide? Like you?"

Sandburg was shaking his head. "No, not exactly. I think Joe is likely the Guide equivalent of a one-senses-heightened person. There are probably tons of people like that around, but you'd have to have a Sentinel to identify them. And maybe even that wouldn't work. It would depend on the Sentinel."

Joe was still looking stunned. "Wow." He glanced shyly at Jim. "I – um, I mean, uh, I'm glad I was able to help you…when you needed it," he murmured.

"So am I," the big detective smiled.

"Guides don't necessarily need Sentinels," Blair continued, "but Sentinels evidently need Guides. The one other full Sentinel I encountered – I mentioned her before – didn't have one. Although I don't know if it would have made a difference. She…she was…" He paused, chewing his lip.

"She is permanently locked up in a mental facility with all her senses and everything else fried to a crisp," Jim growled. "And good riddance. She didn't deserve a Guide. She killed people – she may have murdered her potential guide, for all I know; she stole nerve gas, she committed several other crimes, and intended to commit more…and she tried to kill Sandburg, and came way too close—"

"We don't need to talk about that now," Blair said gently. "It's over and done with, and everything came out all right."

"Daryl mentioned that you'd been almost drowned," Frank put in, "by someone who had stolen some nerve gas. Was that her?"

"Well, there, see, you already knew about it. Another reason not to drag it up. Back to a main point: this has to remain as secret as possible," Sandburg emphasized. "You know now, and we can't exactly mind-wipe you, so you're part of the clan, so to speak, but—"

"Because, kids, neither Sandburg nor I wants to someday wake up and find ourselves strapped to a cold metal table in some secret government lab somewhere – or being sold off to the highest bidder in Uzbekistan, or Beijing, or Baghdad," Jim interposed grimly. Blair shuddered, his eyes bleak.

"We get it. We really do," Frank replied. "We've had more dealings with secret government agencies than you might expect. We know the value of secrecy."

"You what? Oh God, no…" Sandburg sank back in his seat, his face losing all color.

"What agencies?" Ellison demanded harshly.

Frank glanced at Joe, whose blue eyes met his steadily. The younger Hardy nodded encouragement. "The Network," Frank admitted. "We've worked with people from it several times – one person, anyway. Not always by choice."

Instead of looking either relieved or concerned, Jim merely looked puzzled. "That's one I don't know."

"And you never will, at least not through us," Joe vowed. "Swear to God, Jim, we won't let this slip to anyone."

"I guess all we can do is take it on trust," Ellison sighed. "You okay?" he asked Blair, who was still very pale. "Sandburg? Breathe, Chief."

"I think I need another cup of coffee," Sandburg muttered shakily. "Or maybe something way stronger. My nerves are shot, man."

"Something fancy this time?" Frank suggested, endeavoring to ease the tension. "I saw one on the coffee menu that was called Chocolate Frosted Doughnut – and another one named Cinnamon Twist, or something like that."

"There's Raspberry Chocolate Truffle," Joe read from the menu, "or maybe Bananas Foster?"

"Good Lord, those sound disgus— uh, I think I'll go with the Prima Italian Roast," Jim said, making a belated attempt to be tactful.

Chuckling, and looking a bit less upset, Blair perused the menu himself. "Hazelnut Cream," he declared. "Order from here, or go up to the bar?"

Before they could decide, their waitress approached and inquired about dessert. Having already studied the dessert menus, the men were ready.

"Pie," Jim said immediately. "Cherry, if you've got it. Apple if you don't have cherry."

"I'll have the cheesecake," Joe decided.

"That flourless chocolate cake with the caramel sauce," Blair put in his order, brightening up.

"Strawberry tart," Frank chose. "And we can get different coffees up at the bar, right?"

"That's right," the girl smiled, and left to fill their dessert orders. The four men made their way to the coffee bar and ordered their fancy beverages, then sat down again to await dessert.

"Are you two driving back to Bayport tonight?" Blair inquired a few minutes later, cutting delicate bites of his chocolate cake and dragging them through the caramel sauce before happily popping them in his mouth.

"No – we weren't sure how long it was going to take you to kill us," Joe replied cheerfully, "so we contacted a friend who lives here. Tony will let us crash at his apartment, since he doesn't have to deliver our bodies to Mom and Dad." He paused to savor a bite of cheesecake, while both Ellison and Sandburg burst into laughter.

"We aren't quite that bad, are we?"

"I dunno, you looked pretty grim when we arrived," Frank said. "Hey, what do you have lined up for tomorrow? You said you aren't starting your seminar until Sunday morning."

"Thought we'd look around the city a little bit. Neither Sandburg nor I have spent much time here."

"I've seen the airports numerous times," Blair said glumly. "Nothing else."

"That's pretty much the same for me. So we're going to play tourist."

"Would you like a couple of guides – with a small 'g'?" Joe grinned. "Frank and I know NYC pretty well, and we'd be glad to hit the highlights with you. And say, Frank, we could take them to lunch or dinner at Marco's! Best Italian food in New York," he added to the two detectives. "Our cousin Bella Scarpetti owns it; she inherited it from her parents."

"Sounds good," Ellison nodded approval.

Blair was smiling too; he'd finally relaxed again, after the 'secret government agency' revelation had so unnerved him. "What sorts of places did you have in mind?" he asked. "I'd – we'd – kind of like to see the 9/11 Memorial and Ground Zero, you know?"

"Definitely," Frank agreed. "And maybe the Statue of Liberty? Or is that too touristy?"

"And you've gotta hit Times Square," Joe put in. "There's a Hershey's store there that has two floors full of nothing but chocolate, and there are some other specialized chocolate shops as well. And Toys-R-Us has an indoor Ferris Wheel," he grinned.

"Actually, we do need to visit chocolate shops; we promised Rhonda we'd bring her fancy chocolates from New York," Jim said, "so that would be great. And I don't know about you, Chief, but I'd like to see the Statue of Liberty."

"I would too," Blair said quietly. "And I think I'd like to take a walk in Central Park, if we have time."

"Done, and done," Frank smiled, "We can lunch from food carts or a deli or something, and wind up with dinner at Marco's. I'll text Bella, or call her, and make sure they expect us." His smile widened. "We'll get the royal treatment if we're bringing out-of-town guests."

"Yeah, otherwise Tink'll have us eating in the kitchen or something," Joe grumbled.

"Tink?" Blair raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"That's what Joe calls Bella. She looks kind of like Tinkerbell," Frank laughed. "And she wouldn't make us eat in the kitchen. Well, Joe she might. Not me, or you."

The two detectives from Cascade exchanged intrigued glances. A cousin who looked like Tinkerbell and owned an Italian restaurant, but who would make Joe eat in the kitchen?

"I'm beginning to feel like I dropped into a storybook," Blair murmured.

"I admit, we have some kinda interesting friends and relations," Frank replied, and returned his attention to his strawberry tart.

"I'm getting another refill of this." Ellison indicated his coffee cup and slid out of the booth. "Chief? Want me to bring you another?"

"No thanks, man, I'm good."

Jim strolled off to the self-service area. While he was waiting his turn, and trying to decide if he wanted another Prima Italian Roast or maybe Kona this time, he idly picked up on Frank and Blair's conversation, which seemed to be about the care and feeding of Sentinels. _Trust Frank to pump every last bit of information out of Sandburg that he can!_ Turning his head, he noted that Joe was no longer in the booth – probably gone to the men's room. Just then, some electronic chimes sounded, and Frank pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Jim watched the elder Hardy's face light up, and heard Frank murmur "Hello, baby!" Quirking an eyebrow, Jim decided to filter that particular conversation out!

A moment later, Blair joined him. "Didn't want to sit there and eavesdrop," Sandburg chuckled. "I'll just hang here with you."

"Yeah, I tuned it out too." They moved a step or two up in line. Jim was still debating the pros and cons of Italian versus Kona when he heard another telephone ring nearby – the phone located behind the counter. Not even thinking about it, he turned his attention to the barista who picked up the call and whoever was on the other end.

"Ardelle's."

" _Tell Max,"_ a malicious voice hissed, _"to say goodbye to his little enterprise. I'm giving you fair warning: there's a bomb in one of the booths, and the timer triggered with this phone call._ _Sayonara_!" The caller cut the connection with a _click_.

"Wh-what? Hey, what did you say?" The barista was yelling into the phone – to no avail.

"Jim? What was it? You heard, right?" Sandburg tugged at his partner's elbow. "What's wrong?"

Ellison grabbed in return, gripping both of Blair's biceps. "It was a bomb threat, Chief," he whispered frantically. "Someone said there's a bomb in one of the booths and the phone call triggered it!"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.

 **A Matter of Public Record**

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 4

"What? A bomb?" Blair stared, wild-eyed for just a few seconds, then added "We've got to get everyone out of here! Did the guy say anything about how long…?"

"I know, I know— and no, he didn't." Jim listened briefly to the barista's frantic mumblings, which had to do with finding Max – whoever the hell Max was! – and trying to decide what to do about their café full of customers!

"Chief, go over to that guy, ask him what's wrong and make him tell you, and then suggest that he announce there's a problem in the kitchen or something like that, and everyone is going to have to leave. Don't let him start a panic."

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you think?" Jim grinned tightly. "I'm going to try and find another bomb!"

"Jim, be careful, man." Blair squeezed his partner's fingers tightly for a second, then stepped back. "Don't get overwhelmed in here!"

"It's in one of the booths, we know that much – Blair, we were in a booth – and Frank's still there." Jim gulped at the realization. "We've got to get him out!"

"He'll get out when everyone else does; we've got to get everybody started," Blair said, already moving towards the barista and pulling out his badge as he did so.

Left on his own, Jim leaned against the counter and began ruthlessly suppressing some input while kicking a different set into high gear. Deciding that trying to do it through smell was impossible in that hodgepodge of aromas, he began identifying and discarding sounds, hoping to find a tell-tale ticking. That was assuming that bombs still had timers that _ticked_. He heard Blair saying something about being a police officer and that they'd overheard the barista's words, then more sharply, his partner's voice snapping "Announce that there's a problem in the kitchen, or something, and that everyone needs to leave, right now! Do it, man!"

The Sentinel regretfully tuned out his Guide's voice. He shut out the barista's announcement bellowed through cupped hands; he ignored the startled uproar as people reacted with disfavor to the instructions to leave. He upped his visual acuity as he scanned the booths within view. No luck with that, nothing that looked like any sort of bomb came in sight.

A hand gripping his wrist startled him out of his search, and he realized Blair was back with him. "Anything?" Sandburg asked softly.

Ellison shook his head. "Not yet." He noted that the crowd was moving relatively obediently out the door now, herded along by what seemed an awful lot of official-looking persons. "Cops got here already?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sandburg chuckled. "Apparently they were already here. That sign outside that says something about New York's finest coming here wasn't a joke! Shall we make sure the Hardy kids are getting out, and do the same? I don't know how much time we have, but probably less than we need!"

Jim looked quickly towards the back corner booth and to his horror he saw Frank still sitting there, cell phone clutched in one hand. He didn't appear to be talking on it, but the mass of customers trying to head for the door was blocking him from exiting the booth!

"FRANK! Come on!" he yelled, gesturing emphatically. Frank looked up, but gestured helplessly at the crowd in front of him. "Ground me, Chief," Jim snapped, and focused sight on their booth, then piggybacked sound and scent both – a tricky bit of work he'd never attempted before, as piggybacking _one_ sense on another was hard enough; doing it with two made him dizzy with the effort. He caught the mingled fragrance of their assorted coffees, a whiff of Frank's aftershave or cologne, a tantalizing aroma he recognized as caramel sauce…and the barest tang of C-4. Focusing in on that elusive stench, hearing upped to the max and pinpointed on the booth, he caught Frank's elevated heartbeat and excited breathing…and a clear _tick – tick – tick – tick_ that he somehow _knew_ wasn't the Hardy kid's wristwatch. "Oh shit, it's right there! We've got to get Frank out!"

Blair was already moving, still gripping Jim's wrist with one hand. They were bucking traffic, but luckily had been on the edge of the room, against the bar, so had some room to maneuver. When one of the uniformed NYPD officers tried to halt them, Sandburg held up his badge and said curtly "We're getting somebody out of the back!" without halting their progress. They reached the back corner booth just as Frank was beginning to scoot to the edge. Finally the crowd around the booth was clearing.

"Grab him!" Jim snapped, and as if they'd rehearsed it countless times, he and Blair each seized one of the elder Hardy's arms and bodily dragged him over the table.

"Wh – wait, what's – what're you—? Frank protested automatically. "Ouch! What the—?"

"Shhh!" Blair hissed. "Jim heard a bomb threat called in," he whispered in Frank's ear, "and it's right under you; now come on, move it!"

Frank's eyes went wide. Without another word of protest he accompanied the two detectives, who retained their grips on his arms. Trying their best to move more quickly than the rest of the exiting customers but without being obvious about it, they made their way towards the door. Halfway there Frank started glancing around wildly. "Wait! Where's Joe?" he demanded, halting progress.

Jim scanned the room swiftly. "He's not in here; maybe he's already outside. Move, Frank!"

"He could still be in the restroom; what if he didn't even hear—" Frank protested, to no avail; the Cascade detectives shoved and pulled him inexorably towards the exit.

"Jim, what about staff in the kitchen?" Blair leaned close to ask.

Ellison's eyes momentarily lost focus as he stretched his hearing once again. "Nobody there, Chief; I think they went out a back door. I hope, anyway. I'm sure not going back there to check!"

They made it a few feet closer to the door. The crowd wasn't moving quickly, since no one except Jim, Blair, Frank and the now-absent barista were aware of the bomb threat; they were shuffling slowly towards the exit, chatting and laughing, or complaining in annoyance, venturing guesses as to what the problem was in the kitchen that was causing this abrupt dismissal.

Jim, glancing at his Guide, saw Blair practically gnashing his teeth in frustration. "I know, Chief, I know." Raising his voice, he shouted "Hey, move it, up there! We don't wanna stand here all night!"

He received several catcalls and insults in reply, but the customers did speed up their exodus a trifle. He, Blair and Frank pushed, shoved and squirmed as unobtrusively as they could, still attempting to get outside the building before Zero Hour – or Zero Minute, as the case might be. Jim kept looking out the door as it stood open, hoping to catch sight of Joe. Finally, when they were within 10 feet of the exit, he spotted the younger Hardy anxiously staring in from just outside, obviously searching for his brother and their friends. He waved a hand, and saw Joe's worried face lighten in relief. Joe returned the wave, then gestured for them to hurry up and get outside the café.

"I spotted Joe outside," the Sentinel said, "so quit hanging back looking for him, Frank."

Buoyed by this news, Frank and Blair redoubled their efforts, and were carried forward by a surge from the crowd.

"Whew!" Blair heaved a relieved sigh as they stepped over the threshold…

And a deafening _BANG_! sounded from the back corner booth they had so recently vacated. The blast propelled them forward, lifting them from their feet, along with many of the other people around them. Shrieks, screams and shouts resounded, only to be drowned out by the noise of shattering glass, breaking timbers and the _whoosh_ of fire. Jim Ellison, caught unprepared, pitched forward with a scream of agony and wrenched himself from Sandburg's grip, trying to cover his ears in a vain attempt to mitigate the pain.

All three men, Ellison, Sandburg and Hardy, were thrown violently to the street and swallowed up in a fleeing mass of terrified humanity and the acid rainfall of demolished building debris.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.

A Matter of Public Record

A Hardy Boys/Sentinel Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 5

"Jim! Jim!" A muted voice seeped under his flattened palms and worked its way into his ears – a familiar voice, but sounding oddly muffled and strained. "JIM! Can you hear me? Move off me, man; you're cracking my ribs!"

Ellison cautiously peeled his hands away from his ears, automatically dialing his hearing back; there was cacophony surrounding him. Sirens, shouts and screams, an occasional crash of a falling timber or some breaking glass, the crackle of flames. Memory returned with a rush: the bomb in Ardelle's! He realized that he was sprawled flat on top of Sandburg, who was still faintly protesting and squirming to get out from under.

Gingerly, Jim pushed up with his arms, thankful to feel himself relatively unscathed. He'd ended up on top of a pile of humanity and was therefore somewhat cushioned from a hard landing on the street. How his partner was, or how Frank Hardy was, remained to be seen. "Sandburg? You all right? Hang on, give me a second to get up."

As soon as there was room to move, Blair wriggled to his hands and knees, offering apologies to various persons in the immediate vicinity that he'd landed wholly or partially on. He looked up, shaking hair away from his face, reminding Jim irresistibly of a large, blue-eyed puppy. "Man, that was no fun to speak of!" He stared narrowly at his partner. "You look like something's overloaded," he added more quietly. "Are you all right?"

The Sentinel nodded tightly. "Hearing," he conceded, "but it's okay now. The blast caught me by surprise – even though I knew it was coming. Just the residual headache." Ellison glanced around now, more sharply. "Where's Frank?"

" 'm…here," another muffled voice replied. Just to Sandburg's right, a disheveled young woman scrambled to her feet, still gasping in fright and shock, and revealed Frank Hardy lying prone on the ground. He hadn't been fortunate enough to land on a relatively soft human. As the weight on his back was removed, he rolled cautiously to his side and blinked up at the two detectives.

Jim crouched down beside him, wincing as he felt splinters – or perhaps glass shards? – working their way through the back of his shirt. Blair carefully brushed a spot clear of debris and sank to a sitting position, completely disregarding the chaos going on about them. "You hurt?" he asked Frank.

"Banged my head, I think," was the hesitant reply. Frank lifted a shaky hand to his head and rubbed gingerly. "I think somebody sat on my head," he added with an aggrieved glance after the departed girl, who had taken off through the crowd as soon as she regained her feet. "And I think I'll have bruises on my arms – and not much skin left." He held up both hands to display scraped forearms where he'd hit the pavement.

"Ouch. Well, be glad it was her and not some 250-pound guy," Blair grinned, then sobered when Frank didn't laugh in response. "Jim, check him over," he whispered, Sentinel-soft.

Ellison, protesting "I don't weigh 250 – I barely weigh 200!" took a few moments to assess the elder Hardy boy's overall condition – a difficult task, considering they were sitting on the sidewalk in front of a bombed-out café and in the middle of crowds of semi-hysterical people. Besides the scrapes, Frank had a definite knot rising on his forehead, and he blinked dazedly at the two men hovering over him.

"Track for me…squeeze my hand…do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Double vision, or blurred?"

"Yes, no, and just a little bit." Frank managed a grin now. "And it's getting better." He paused, and frowned. "Where's Joe, anyway?"

"I saw him right before the big bang," Jim said, rising to his feet to scan the crowd. "He was—" He spotted the younger Hardy fast approaching. "There he—"

"THERE you are!" Joe practically leaped over a couple of people still sprawled in the street. "Are you okay? What happened? I got shoved out the door and couldn't get back inside – Frank, are you all right?"

"Whoa, easy now," Blair cautioned. "We'll tell you in a minute. Let's make sure Frank's not going to keel over if he stands up, okay? He ended up as the bottom layer of a three-layer cake."

Joe gave first Blair, then Jim a hand up, then he and Blair assisted Frank to his feet while Ellison acted as a buffer against them being knocked down again by the surge of the packed crowd. Not only were all Ardelle's customers there, but every person in the vicinity was coming to gape and comment. Once standing, Frank leaned against his brother's shoulder briefly, then nodded that he was able to walk.

"It's better," he assured his anxious watchers. "Let's get out of this – this – whatever you call it!"

"Pandemonium," Jim suggested, wincing again as several ambulances and patrol cars shrieked up, lights and sirens set on Maximum.

"Ruckus," was Joe's contribution. "This way, bro." Gripping Frank's right arm tightly, he moved away from the building remains, edging through the packed humanity. "And you'd better tell me what happened, right soon!"

"Chaos," Blair added, taking Frank's left arm in one hand while grasping his Sentinel's wrist with the other. They made their way slowly across the street and leaned against a convenient building…along with a horde of gawkers and former restaurant patrons.

"Frank, do you need to sit down?" That was Blair, keeping a watchful eye on the elder Hardy brother. "Or do you?" he added to Jim. Frank nodded and slid down to a seated position on the sidewalk, Joe joining him. Ellison shook his head at first, then shrugged and capitulated, wincing again as his back made contact with the building. Blair sank down between him and Frank – also grimacing as the movements jarred his aching ribcage. The four of them sat quietly, contemplating the ruin of the cozy little café.

At last Blair sighed and spoke again. "What a shame – what a waste," he murmured. "Everything's gone."

"And it was such good food!" Joe said sadly.

"The coffee was amazing," Jim put in.

Frank added the _pièce de résistance_. "And we'd just found it."

While they were sitting there recovering, a uniformed NYPD officer approached. "Were you in there?" he inquired, jerking his head towards the smoldering rubble across the street.

"Yes, we were." Wearily, Jim hauled himself to his feet. "I'm Detective James Ellison, Cascade Washington PD. That's my partner, Detective Blair Sandburg." Blair waved half-heartedly but didn't stand. The two men produced their police ID for the officer to scan. "We're here for a seminar at the Crowne Plaza, just up the street. That's where we're staying. We had just finished dinner over there – with some friends," the Sentinel added, smiling at Frank and Joe.

The officer returned the identification, nodding approval. "I'm Officer Mclarney. Are you two from Cascade too?" he asked the Hardys.

"No sir, we're from Bayport," Joe replied politely. "I'm Joe Hardy, and this is my brother, Frank." As always, he waited to see if this policeman would pick up on the name Hardy – but no, he wasn't old enough to have been around when Fenton was on the force.

"Do you know what happened?" Officer Mclarney paused, looking a little more closely at them. "Wait – do you need medical attention, any of you?"

Blair opened his mouth to say yes, Frank needed to be checked over, but the elder Hardy dug an active elbow into Sandburg's side, causing acute pain to flare in his ribs. Blair stifled a gasp, ducking his head to hide his agonized expression.

"Let the medics take care of people who are really hurt; none of us need a doctor," Jim covered smoothly. "And yeah, we sort of know what happened. Sandburg and I were standing up by the front counter when the phone rang, and we could tell something upset the guy who answered it. We identified ourselves as police, and asked what was wrong; he told us there was a bomb threat. We advised him to announce there was a problem in the kitchen, to get everyone out without causing a panic. Which he did."

Joe, who hadn't yet heard the actual events, gaped in astonishment. "A bomb?" he hissed softly, "Really?"

"And where were you two?" Officer Mclarney inquired of the Hardys.

"Restroom," Joe stated. "When I came out I got shoved outside without finding out what was going on."

"Sitting at the table talking on my phone to my girlfriend," said Frank.

"We went back and made sure Frank got out." Blair had recovered his breath now. "But we ended up being almost the last ones out the door. We had just cleared it when the explosion happened." He shifted gingerly. "We were knocked down by the shockwave."

Officer Mclarney nodded, accepting their version of the incident without further questions. "Thanks, Detectives, gentlemen," he said cheerfully. "You take it easy for awhile. I suggest going back to your hotel to get some rest."

"Not arguing that at all," Ellison agreed. "If we're free to go…?" At the officer's affirmative gesture, Jim reached down to help Blair to his feet.

"Thanks, Officer Mclarney. Hope you find out who did this." Sandburg managed a fairly decent smile – not his usual megawatt grin, but sufficient to the occasion.

"You and me both," Mclarney said grimly, and waved them on their way.

"Frank? You up to a walk back to the hotel?" Joe pushed himself upright and bent over his brother solicitously.

"I am, actually," Frank said. "Sitting here for awhile helped quite a lot." With Joe's assistance he gained his feet. "Jim, are you sure you're all right? You were at the back – did you get hit with anything?"

"If he did, he's not admitting it," Blair muttered sourly. Slowly, they began to thread through the crowd, heading in the direction of the Crowne Plaza.

Ellison shrugged. "There's stuff working through the back of my shirt, but I'll brush it out back at the hotel. Good thing I hadn't taken my wallet out of my pocket to pay – oh, my Lord!" He began to laugh. "We never…paid for dinner!"

#####

The walk back to the Crowne Plaza was a much slower, much more somber affair than their stroll earlier. Joe supported Frank, who was developing a pounding headache to go with the stinging of his scrapes. Jim tried to assist his partner without putting pressure on Sandburg's bruised ribs, all the while feeling those bits of glass or wood or metal or whatever they were, sift inside his shirt to stab at his back.

"We probably ought to just go straight to our car and over to Tony's place," Joe said as they neared the hotel. "You've got to want to just crash."

"Well, I won't deny that just crashing sounds good," Blair admitted, "but come on up and let Frank rest for a little while first, at least. And we can put something on those godawful scratches he's sporting, and give him some aspirin or something."

"I've learned to always pack a first-aid kit when we travel," Jim grinned. "A large one. Sandburg is—"

"They've heard it before, Jim," Sandburg grumbled. "You don't need to tell them again."

They entered the Crown Plaza lobby and gratefully took the elevator up to the 15th floor. Jim used his key card on the door and they went in, all four heaving sighs of relief. A few minutes were spent getting Frank settled on one of the beds and Blair on the other, although Sandburg protested he didn't need to lie down, and compromised by propping pillows against the headboard and leaning back on them. Jim produced a bottle of ibuprofen and distributed the contents liberally, including to himself. Then he gazed thoughtfully at the little mini-bar.

"I definitely need a drink. You want anything, Chief?"

"You don't have to ask twice." Sandburg looked slightly more cheerful. "Bourbon if it's there. But anything hard will do – this isn't a beer night."

While Ellison rummaged in the little receptacle Joe cleared his throat ostentatiously. "You have guests," he reminded the detectives with a grin. "Shouldn't you be polite and offer us some too?"

"JOE!" That was Frank, sounding horrified.

Jim turned around and eyed Joe with a distinct chill. "You're neither of you 21, and we know it," he said sternly, "and you're actually asking us to give you liquor? We're police officers, remember? What kind of idiots do you think we are?"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Joe hastened to say. "And to tell the truth, neither of us cares for it much anyway. Not that we've had the chance to try it very often!"

"But I am kind of thirsty," Frank murmured.

Jim gave him a quick look, then returned to rummaging, coming up shortly with a couple of cans of cola. He handed one each to the brothers. 'That do?"

"Thanks, Detective Ellison," Joe said with a smile.

"It's 'Jim,' remember?" Apparently all was forgiven.

"Joe, before you settle down, would you get some ice from the machine in the hall? I think Frank could do with a cold pack for the knot on his head, and you're the most mobile of us right now," Blair suggested, and the younger Hardy nodded, grabbed the ice bucket, and exited quickly, propping the door open as he went out.

"And you," Sandburg continued, "get that shirt off so I can see your back – there are flecks of blood showing through all over it. You may have dialed the pain down, but that doesn't do anything to patch you up."

Ellison sighed. "Yes, dear." He handed his partner a filled glass, took a quick slug of his own, and began unbuttoning his shirt, sitting on the edge of Blair's bed as he did so. Easing the garment from his shoulder brought a sigh of relief; removing it completely took nearly all the gouging pain away. "See, Chief, it's okay, it's fine…"

"Hush up." Blair examined the expanse of bloodied skin minutely, but eventually conceded Jim was right. Most of the damage was to the shirt, which had sharp things sticking through it all over. "Probably putting some Neosporin on wouldn't hurt, but it's not really necessary. Man, you were so lucky."

"I know," Jim acknowledged soberly, and reached back to pat Sandburg's leg in reassurance.

"The shirt's breathed its last, though," Sandburg smirked.

"Now will somebody tell me all the details about the bomb?" Joe requested, once he'd arranged a towel-wrapped ice pack on Frank's forehead and sat down again with his can of soda.

"Not just you, I want to hear too," Frank put in.

Jim looked at Blair. Blair returned the look. "Go for it," he said.

"You heard what I told Officer Mclarney – that was edited a little bit. I was standing up by the counter," Ellison obediently recited, "and Sandburg joined me when Frank got his phone call. We were just standing there – and the phone rang and the barista answered it. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but for whatever reason, I tuned in on what the caller said. He said – and I quote: " _"Tell Max to say goodbye to his little enterprise. I'm giving you fair warning: there's a bomb in one of the booths, and the timer triggered with this phone call._ _Sayonara_!"

"Holy cow!" Joe's blue eyes were enormous. Frank had lifted the ice pack from its position on his head, and was peering out from under, looking shocked as well.

"The guy hung up, and the barista started gibbering about what to do. So Sandburg went over and calmed him down enough to find out what had happened – although we already knew, of course. I started trying to locate the bomb."

"How?" Frank was sitting upright, ice pack forgotten, dark eyes intent on the Sentinel. "What do you do?"

"It's a trick of Sandburg's," Jim said with a smile at his partner. "Something he calls piggybacking. I'll let him explain it. Chief?"

"Well…it's something I thought of way back when, that lets Jim combine one heightened sense he's working with, with another," Sandburg began. "In this case he was using his hearing to try and find that telltale ticking, then added sight or scent by essentially 'following' hearing with another sense…piggybacking one on top of the other, am I right, Jim?"

"I used hearing at first, then switched to sight, and temporarily backed off on hearing when I focused on our booth, where you were sitting, Frank."

"And then?" Joe was as rapt as his brother.

"And then I—" Jim paused and glanced shyly at his partner. "I piggybacked both scent and hearing on top of sight, and picked up the C-4 smell and heard the ticking, right there. So I knew Frank was basically sitting on top of a bomb."

"Yikes," Frank murmured, and sank back on the bed, slightly overwhelmed.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! You doubled it up? You did three?" Blair jerked upright, flinching but too excited to pay attention to the pain. "You've never done that before, have you? I didn't know you could!"

"Well, I didn't know I could either, until I tried it. And it worked. But it was pretty hard," Ellison admitted.

"My God…three at a time?" Blair dropped back, this time groaning as his ribs made themselves felt. "I need another drink." He tossed back the remaining liquid in his glass.

"No you don't." Jim patted him again comfortingly. "And don't even think about devising any more tests," he warned.

"But you need to practice it—"

"Chief, it's something strictly for emergencies. Let's let it lie for at least a few days, okay? Please?"

Sandburg nodded and sighed, but his eyes glowed with admiration when he looked at his Sentinel.

"I'm feeling more and more guilty," Frank said in a low voice, then, "Because I'm realizing that every time we've been with you two, we've brought you problems, gotten you hurt, put you in danger. We don't mean to, but it happens. I'm really, really sorry."

"How so?" Ellison asked. Blair cocked his head, puzzled as well.

"First time we met, I inveigled Blair and Daryl into the basement of the Sports Arena, and Blair got hurt," Frank explained. "Then when we came out to Cascade, Joe sat next to that assassin on the plane so he knew who we were; the one that wanted to kill Thor, and ended up shooting you, Jim."

"He's right," Joe chimed in. "The next time, it was Dad that dragged you into a mess, when he got kidnapped in Cascade by those nitwits. And you got hurt again – and Blair practically had a nervous breakdown."

"Hey!" came the automatic protest from Sandburg.

"And you can't deny that this time it was all my fault," Frank concluded miserably. "If I hadn't snooped into the Sentinel thing, you wouldn't have had to come to New York to make sure I didn't talk about it. If you hadn't come to New York, and we hadn't come here to talk to you, you wouldn't have been in that coffee shop and almost blown to Kingdom Come."

"Hmm." Jim surveyed him thoughtfully. "Valid points." He turned his gaze to his partner. "Chief, I thought you were a trouble magnet, but they've got you beat by a mile."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with RokiaHDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

This particular story was written in 2015. Technology does not match today's levels, but it's fairly close!

 _Note: Those of you who have read the other stories in the Hardy Boys arc will recognize Bella, Alexander and Courtney from Death on the Fourth of July._

Thank you, thank you, thank you to those readers who have waded through these four crossover stories. I hope you got some small measure of enjoyment out of them.

A Matter of Public Record

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 6

"I'm not sure if I should feel complimented or insulted," Frank remarked, after Jim's comment. "Like I said, we don't do it on purpose!"

"No, but you knew – this time anyway – that you were snooping where you shouldn't have been," Blair snapped, suddenly feeling angry all over again. "You may not have realized just how devastating it would be to us, but you did know you shouldn't have been doing it."

"Face it, bro, you did it because you were bored and curious. Curiosity – killed the cat and all."

"No, the panther," Blair muttered, very low. Only Jim heard him, and smiled slightly, laying a calming hand on his partner's leg again.

"Public record…it's all there in public documents," Frank said defensively.

"Unfortunately, Chief, he's right. It is all right there if a person knows how to look for it. And we know people know how to look."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Frank; I shouldn't be scolding you for doing something that anyone might. I apologize. I'm just scared it's going to happen again and again, and not always a friend that's doing the looking."

"I promise we'll be extra cautious, never refer to it where anyone else can overhear – oh jeez, I'll reformat my computer so that the record of that e-mail will be wiped," Frank offered.

"That's a good idea; I hadn't thought of that myself. I'll do what I can on my end as well," Sandburg concurred.

"Promise," Frank repeated. "We both do." He then smiled wistfully. "I'm sorry for upsetting your lives, but…heck, Jim, I can't help it; I'm still absolutely blown away by what you can do!"

At that, Sandburg and Ellison could do nothing but helplessly laugh.

"And on that bright note, I really do think we should call it a day, head for our friend's place, and let you two get some rest." Joe got to his feet, sighing. "And get some ourselves."

"Do you still want to do a one-day tour of New York City tomorrow with us?" Frank inquired as he also stood up. "Or are we _persona non grata_ now?"

"If you're up for it, we definitely are," Blair smiled, ignoring the second question. "But really, do let us know if you aren't feeling like it. We won't hold you to it if that bang on the head is bothering you."

"It'll be fine," Frank said dismissively. "All I need is a night's sleep."

"Ten o'clock?" Ellison suggested. "I doubt I'll be able to drag Sandburg out of bed before nine." He blithely disregarded his partner's glower at _that_ remark.

"Ten is good. We'll meet you downstairs in the lobby. C'mon, Frank, let's let the detectives have some down time. Tony'll be wondering where we are." Joe shepherded his older brother out the door.

"Goodnight!" Frank called back hastily, as the door shut behind them.

Left alone, the two men from Cascade exchanged bemused glances. "I think we scared them," Blair sighed ruefully. "I was mad, yeah, but, still – they're good kids, after all."

"It'll be okay by tomorrow," Jim predicted. "Let's get some sleep. Personally, I'm bushed."

#####

The Hardys presented themselves in the lobby of the Crowne Plaza promptly at ten the next morning and found Ellison and Sandburg just exiting the elevator.

"Good morning!" Blair exclaimed. "How are you feeling, Frank?"

"Much better," the elder Hardy brother declared. "See, the bump's gone way down." He was right in that the knot had subsided, but it was replaced by a reddish bruise that stood out plainly.

"How're you doing, Blair?" Joe inquired.

"Kind of sore, but better," the younger detective admitted. "I just keep reminding Jim of it to make him feel guilty, since he's the one that landed on me."

Ellison lightly smacked his partner on the back of the head, but didn't bother with a reply.

"We figured you'd want to take my car, rather than trying to catch buses or taxis," Frank said, "We'll still have to park sometimes and walk, or take the boat over to Ellis Island, of course, but…" He gestured grandly. "Gentlemen, your chariot awaits!"

#####

 _Quite a few hours later…_

"Sandburg, if you don't stop singing 'New York, New York' I may be forced to do something drastic that will threaten our partnership."

"'If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere, it's up to you—' Ow! Was that nice?" Blair rubbed the back of his head, scowling up at his grinning Sentinel.

"It was a warning. It wasn't meant to be nice." Ellison sank gratefully onto a bench and set down the numerous bags he was carrying. "All right, you young punks, I'm feeling my age. I'm sitting right here in Times Square and resting for a little bit."

"Age has nothing to do with it; I'm joining you," Frank sighed. "We've covered a lot of ground." He sat down next to Jim.

"Good thing there are two benches; people might look at us kind of funny if we all tried to crowd onto one," Joe observed, also seating himself on a bench right-angled from the first.

"Scoot over," Blair ordered, and dropped down beside Joe. Blair was carrying as many shopping bags as Jim. "It was worth it, though," he rushed on, "Ground Zero – the Memorial…I'm so glad we got to see it. And Central Park – it's beautiful, it really is; the walk around and eating lunch there was great! And I loved going to the Statue of Liberty."

"Be glad you opted not to climb to the top," Jim groaned. "I'm not going to be able to walk tomorrow! And I thought I was in pretty good shape."

"I knew my ribs couldn't handle it," the younger detective admitted with a sigh. "And I wasn't too sure about the height thing anyway."

"Did you guys get enough chocolate to take back with you?" Frank asked, grinning. Both detectives were carrying bags from several different candy stores, as well as various other purchases.

"We have a whole bullpen to feed," Sandburg defended his purchases, "and like Jim said before, we told Rhonda we'd bring her some special ones – that she doesn't have to share. We owe her for getting us our plane tickets and seminar registrations and hotel rooms on an emergency basis."

"So that you could come early and talk to us. Um – yell at us."

"Well, sort of, yeah. Besides, Rhonda's probably the nicest person that works in Major Crimes. She deserves special chocolates."

"If it hadn't blown up, I was going to get Simon some coffee at Ardelle's," Jim mused. "Hope he likes stuff from Times Square as well."

"They'll be surprised that we're bringing them presents at all," mumbled Blair through a yawn. "Hey, did anyone hear anything about Ardelle's on the news?"

"I did; I read it online this morning," Frank reported. "They haven't located him yet, but apparently the police are looking for a cousin of the owner – whose name is Maxim, by the way; that's the 'Max' the barista was referring to. They think this cousin had a grudge against Maxim and is the likeliest suspect to have planted a bomb."

"Fast work – glad they have a lead." Blair yawned again. "Man, do we have time for naps before dinner?"

"Maybe," Joe replied, "If we leave right now. I made reservations for seven o'clock."

"Be sure and give us the address where we'll be eating; we'll take a taxi there," Ellison reminded the Hardys. "That's where you're staying, isn't it? You said your friend's apartment is connected to the restaurant."

"That's right," Frank confirmed. "Tony works there, and lives above it, sort of."

"Well, you aren't driving over there to change for dinner, and then driving back here to pick us up, and then going back for dinner, and then bringing us back here, and then—"

"All right, Blair, all right! We get it. We'll let you take a taxi."

"Speaking of changing for dinner, though," Jim said thoughtfully, "we may be in a fix, Sandburg. Did we bring any dressy clothes that match a nice restaurant? I thought I was packing for a one-day seminar and maybe some sight-seeing."

"Oh man, I never even thought – last night was as good as I've got, and that stuff is toast!" Blair exclaimed in consternation. "How fancy is this place, anyway?" he asked Joe.

"Well…even the waiters wear tuxedos," Joe grinned.

"Ohnonono…Jim, man, we're screwed. Should we quick go buy something to wear?"

"Joe, stop teasing them. Don't worry, just slacks and a casual shirt are fine," Frank reassured the two detectives. "Marcos' wait staff is better dressed than 90% of their clientele."

"Whew!" Sandburg blew out a relieved breath and dropped back onto the bench.

"If you're sure…" Jim still looked concerned.

"I'm sure. Besides, if you feel uncomfortable about it, I can ask Alexander to put us at a table sort of out of the way."

"Alexander? Who's Alexander?"

"He manages the place. Bella owns it, but Alexander runs it," Frank explained.

"I think maybe we should head for the hotel." Blair yawned once more. "'Scuse me. I really do need a nap."

"Headline news: Energizer Bunny finally runs out of power," Jim snickered. Sandburg gifted him with a rude gesture.

"Then let's split." Joe got to his feet and helped Blair gather his bags; Frank and Jim followed suit. "We'll drop you off, see you there for dinner – and then Frank and I will head back to Bayport." _And get out of your hair and out of your lives_ , the younger Hardy's thoughts continued silently.

#####

"Blair."

"Hmmm? Uh-oh. You called me 'Blair' so it's serious. What, Jim?"

"Two things. Number one, time to get up and get ready to go to dinner. Number two…let it go, Chief."

"Let what…oh. You can tell, huh?"

"That you're still mad at the Hardy kids? Oh yeah, I can tell. And I'm saying it again: let it go. Quit holding onto it. I'm not the only one who can tell. They know it too."

Sandburg heaved an unhappy sigh. "I'm trying. I think I've put it behind me, and then I remember what Frank did and how it could affect you, and us, and…and I get totally furious again. It won't go away."

"Did you really think no one would ever think to research it and get to the truth?"

"No, I suppose not…but I didn't expect it from absolute kids!" Blair scowled. "And why aren't you as mad as I am? How come you're so all-forgiving?"

Jim thought about it for a moment. "Maybe because I live every day with the expectation that someone is going to reveal it," he said at last, "so I wasn't completely surprised. Maybe because I know it wasn't done with any harmful intent. They were curious because they consider us their friends, and wanted to know more about us. And maybe," he concluded with a sheepish grin, "because although he keeps apologizing, Frank also keeps looking at me all starry-eyed, like you used to. Sometimes it's nice to be thought special, you know? Special and not a…freak."

"Oh gods and goddesses!" Blair lunged off the bed, leaped at his Sentinel and caught him in a tight hug. "You are absolutely the most special person I've ever known, Jim Ellison, and definitely not a freak, and if I don't look starry-eyed at you all the time, it's because I've learned to hide it, even when I don't want to!" He sighed again, but was smiling too. "All right, you've shamed me into it. I'm letting this go…I'm letting this go…I'm letting this go. I really am this time. I'll be friends with Frank and Joe again and I won't hold a grudge. Okay?"

"Okay." Returning the hug, Ellison patted his partner's back. "Good enough. Let's get ready and I'll call for a taxi."

#####

"We're meeting Frank and Joe Hardy," Jim explained to the distinguished-looking man who asked politely if they had reservations.

"Ah, yes." An upswept eyebrow and a smile greeted that information. "Joe and Frank should be here any moment – unless they're running late. Would you care to be seated at your table now, or wait for them here?"

"We'll wait, thank you." The two Cascade detectives seated themselves on the padded benches and looked with interest at the interior of Marco's. It was nice, but not horrifically fancy. True, the staff all seemed to be in formal dress, but as Frank had said, the clientele wasn't dressed formally; their party blended right in. Amazing aromas wafted from the kitchen, evident even to Blair; to Jim's sensitive nose they were mouth-watering-inducing. "Chief, I think this place is a winner, if smell is anything to go by," he murmured.

"I agree – oh, there they are."

The Hardys entered and were greeted cordially by the distinguished-looking man. "Evening, Frank, Joe, nice to see you."

"Hi Alex!" "Good to see you too, Mr. Harrington." Evidently this was the Alexander Harrington who was the restaurant manager. Frank initiated introductions: "Alex, these are our acquaintances from Cascade, Washington. Detective Jim Ellison and Detective Blair Sandburg. This is Alexander Harrington, the manager of Marco's."

 _So when did we become 'Detective Ellison' and 'Detective Sandburg' and 'acquaintances' instead of friends, again?_ Jim wondered uneasily. He hoped Frank was merely being formal to match the setting.

"Nice to meet you, detectives. Your table is ready – Courtney?" Harrington beckoned a hovering waiter, who, while exchanging casual conversation with the Hardys – evidently another friend – showed them to a table.

"Are you our server tonight, Courtney?" Joe was asking, as they were seated.

"Yes, although I know Tony will drop by – and the Little Colonel, too," the waiter grinned.

"The Little Colonel?" Blair inquired.

"He means Bella," Joe laughed. "Courtney's an old movie buff."

"Oh…okay." Blair sounded just a little blank, but Jim, for once, actually knew what Joe was referring to – something Sandburg did not.

"It's an old Shirley Temple movie, Chief," he said softly, as the boys continued their banter. Blair's face lightened, and he nodded his understanding.

Courtney asked for drink orders, handed out menus, and departed.

"Well – here we are again having dinner. Let's hope and pray nothing blows up tonight!" Joe quipped.

"Amen, brother!" Frank agreed fervently.

When their drinks arrived – all non-alcoholic tonight, as the detectives knew they had to be clear-headed for their seminar the next morning – Jim raised his glass to propose a toast. "To understanding friends," he said gently, and smiled at his three table companions.

"To understanding friends," came the chorused reply, and four glasses _clinked_ together over the table.

###

To say they enjoyed their dinners would be an understatement. Sandburg and Ellison were quick to agree that 'the best Italian food in New York City' was not advertising hyperbole. Jim opted for the grilled rack of lamb, Blair had Chicken Marsala. Joe declared he was 'branching out' and ordered the New York Strip Vesuvio, while Frank decided on Shrimp Scampi. All the entrees were pronounced sensational. Men don't usually swap food at meals, but several times some samples were discreetly placed on bread plates and casually passed across the table.

During the meal another employee, a good-looking young man with dark hair and flashing dark eyes dropped by their table and was introduced as Tony Prito, the old friend with whom the Hardys had stayed the night before. Tony didn't linger long; he was too busy, but he seemed entirely cordial to the detectives.

When it was time for dessert, they agonized over the dessert menu for several minutes before the decision was literally taken out of their hands.

"Courtney, they'll have two orders of _Dolce Amore_ – on the house," a sweet feminine voice declared from behind Frank. They looked up, startled.

"Yes, ma'am," Courtney grinned, and sketching a bow, headed for the kitchen.

"Bella!" Frank scrambled to his feet and hugged the owner of the sweet feminine voice – a petite blonde cherub in a simple rose-colored dress.

Joe then took his turn greeting the little blonde with an equally enthusiastic hug. "Hey, Tinkerbelle! You look scrumptious, little cousin!"

The two detectives from Cascade exchanged amazed looks. This – _baby_ – was the owner of this wonderful restaurant? She didn't even look as old as Joe! They rose, hastily.

"Bella, let me introduce some very special friends," Frank said then. "This is Detective Jim Ellison and Detective Blair Sandburg of the Cascade, Washington police department. Jim, Blair, this is my cousin, Bella Scarpetti – the owner of Marco's."

"Miss Scarpetti, it's a pleasure to meet you. May I say that our dinner has been absolutely stupendous?" Blair was putting every ounce of charm he possessed into his greeting – and Blair Sandburg possessed a great deal of charm.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Bella said demurely. "I'll be sure that Enrico, our head chef, is informed. He'll be very pleased."

"I'm charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Scarpetti." Jim wasn't about to be outdone by his partner. "Frank and Joe have been telling us how great the food is here, for two days. They were absolutely right."

Bella, looking up – and up – as Jim, at 6'3" towered over her – dimpled. "I'm delighted you enjoyed it." As Courtney approached bearing a tray loaded with dessert samplers, she added "I hope you'll like your dessert as well."

"Can you sit down and join us?" Sandburg invited.

Bella shook her head, smiling. "No, I have some things to do, but thank you for asking me. Enjoy!"

"Later, Tink," Joe called after her, and she fluttered a hand in response.

"She does look like Tinkerbelle, doesn't she?" Blair remarked, gazing after their departing hostess.

"I didn't give her the nickname," Joe said. "She told us that's what her mother called her."

"She doesn't look anywhere old enough to own a place like this," Ellison frowned in puzzlement.

"She's only owned it a short while," Frank explained, his face somber. "Her parents were both killed, about a month apart, not long ago, and that's how she inherited the restaurant. She really isn't old enough for the responsibility or the pressures – but she's trying very hard to do it, as a tribute to them. And Alexander is a good man. He wanted to buy her out, but he's helping her, instead."

"Wow…" Blair shook his head. "Poor kid. You said she's your cousin? First cousins?"

"That's right. Our mom and hers were sisters – twins," Joe explained. "But they were…estranged…for a long time. We didn't even know Bella existed until recently. Nor she us."

"Wow," Blair said again.

"However," Frank said, in a more cheerful tone, "she will be totally ticked off if we don't eat our dessert, and I, for one, do not want Bella Scarpetti mad at me! So dig in!"

#####

"You drive carefully, going home!" Blair leaned down to speak into Frank's open car window. "I know it's a drive you're used to making, but still…"

"I will," Frank promised. "Enjoy the seminar tomorrow, and have a safe flight back to Cascade on Monday." He smiled a little. "Do something fun tomorrow night before you leave."

"Thanks for dinner, Jim." Joe's window was open as well; Jim stood beside it.

"Considering I didn't have to pay for last night's at all, it's the least I could do," Ellison chuckled. "And the dessert was free, thanks to your cousin."

"Guys…thanks again," Blair said. "For…everything."

"No," Frank replied quietly. "Thank you. We promise…well, you know. Keep in touch when you can, okay? And stay safe out on the street."

"You got it."

"C'mon, Chief, taxi's waiting." Jim straightened up. "So long, Joe, Frank. You two stay safe as well. Give our best to your father. And like Frank said, keep in touch…and I mean that." He moved away from the car toward the idling taxicab, Sandburg at his heels.

Frank started the engine, but waited and watched, taking a last, long look at the Sentinel and his Guide, until the taxi had departed. Only then did he put his car into gear and began their journey home.

The End


End file.
